


I'm So Over You

by mymindsofar



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - High School, Anal Sex, Angst, Blowjobs, Confused Bucky, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Love Confessions, M/M, Rimming, Skinny!Steve, Swearing, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use, Unrequited Love, fuck buddies, it's in the past tho?, let's pretend it's not serious although it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-03-29 12:27:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3896278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mymindsofar/pseuds/mymindsofar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky should have known. Except — and that is the tragedy of his miserable existence — he fell for the one with great promises of opening the closet doors together without meaning one word of it. Natasha knew, but it's not like he ever listens, and Steve, best friend and all, just changed the topic whenever they came across it, as furious as it made Bucky that he never seemed to care about this part of his life.<br/>Well, Bucky did spend a lot of breath on that fucker. And now he's downing something that is predominantly vodka with some addition of strawberry syrup and wonders whether it would matter if he didn't wake up tomorrow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Bucky hasn't gone out in a while.

            Being absolutely honest with himself, he shouldn’t have been that upset about Brock's confession. But maybe it was because he didn't seem that beaten up about it on the other side of the Skype screen, like that asshole didn't just go and declare that he fuck some girl, and from what it seemed like, not for the first time. And then he just hung up.

            Eventually, Bucky _knew_ Brock would go back to his skirt-chasing, knew their ‘thing’ wasn’t meant to be permanent, just not that it would be over the second Bucky’s out of the frame. Some people have the decency to break up first when they go for a year abroad and then decide dick isn’t their thing anymore.

            Bucky should have known. Except — and that is the tragedy of his miserable existence — he _fell_ for the one with great promises of opening the closet doors together without meaning one word of it. Natasha knew, but it's not like he _ever_ listens, and Steve, best friend and all, just changed the topic whenever they came across it, as furious as it made Bucky that he never seemed to care about _this_ part of his life.

            Well, Bucky did spend a lot of breath on that fucker. And now he's downing something that is predominantly vodka with some addition of strawberry syrup and wonders whether it would matter if he didn't wake up tomorrow. His father wouldn't care; guy’s not home until next week, currently somewhere on the East Side. New York, probably. Not that Bucky cares about him all that much.

            Peggy's parents leave their beach house unattended for most through the summer (thus eradicating its purpose entirely) and scatter across Pacific Islands and eastern countries, leaving their youngest daughter to her own accord, because she is a straight-A student after all, hanging out with all the right people. Well, it’s not the opposite, but parents are admittedly deluded about what really goes on in their kid’s heads.

            The fancy house on the outskirts of The City – followed by a row of many more – is a perfect place to get wasted, because liquor becomes water and its mostly good people around, because the ones Peggy doesn't tolerate get their nose reshaped pretty quickly around here.

            Natasha freed herself down to her bikini and Bucky knows if she shifted at least a little, Clint's boner would be visible from any corner of the room, and Bucky understands too well. But he had his chance, and if he were up to a rebound, even plastic surgery wouldn’t be of help when Nat would be done with him _just_ for offering. She definitely knows how to hold a grudge, but she’s reasonably careful around him, and deep down, they still cling to each other in their own way. He’s just not so much into sharing-with-the-pot-guy-Clint thing. Then again, _all_ hypothetical. Nat and he are one-hundred-percent done. Same as Bucky and Brock, but now he’s running in circles again.

            Something reggae is playing, fuck knows what or who, and they're passing on the bong in the patio. The smell waves over through the open glass door, only source of air at the moment. Bucky empties his cup and swallows the emptiness in his heart. It still hurts. He never should have believed that motherfucker in the first place. _"We both will risk way too much if someone finds out. We keep this low profile, we have our fun. That okay, Jim?"_

            Chances are high he wasn't even faithful back then. Bucky tried to ignore the constantly buzzing phone and questionable messages from his _cousin_ Olivia or _study buddy_ Alexis he couldn't help but glance over. Brock had tried to keep it a secret, but thinking back, he had been horrible at it. And doesn't that just make Bucky twice the idiot he could have been? Well, Steve and Nat both could write him a book about that one. It’s _bucking_ Barnes again, off to the land of the sandtraps and relationships with a minor success rate.

            Steve nudges his shoulder with his, looking up to him. Despite Bucky’s general drowsy state, that sends a positive spark through his system. He stares back, waiting for him to initiate a conversation. But it doesn't happen; they don't talk, just stare at the occupied pool table as another point goes to Tony and the audience cheers. Thor's laugh echoes through the house, and Bucky’s positive the windows just shook.

            "Something up?" Bucky wonders, speech slurry from the drinks. Steve shrugs, thin arms crossed over his chest. He looks more relaxed than usual, but still very out of place. He's not used to going out drinking, and this is considered one of the _small_ gatherings. Bucky counts about twenty heads, knows them all by name on a good day.

            Steve always seems out of place. For as much as Bucky likes, _loves_ him even, the short skinny blonde is nothing but trouble and fish on dry land. Then he stayed behind one year, and while he doesn't have it easy now one grade beneath them, it seems he's doing okay for now. He has his issues concentrating on things like class, but he surely isn’t dumb. And neither is he lazy like Bucky.

            "You don’t look so good," Steve replies, voice deep and throaty. It's nothing like his skew and meager looks. Bucky laughs dryly at his patronizing concern.

            "I'm drunk, what do you expect?" he snaps back, seeing Steve shift a little uncomfortably.

            Steve looks back at the billiard table, sighing. "I'm done for tonight, I was wondering whether you want me to take you home."

            Bucky doesn't want to. Another hour or two he might spend here, get a little more drunk until he passes out on the couch and Peggy throws him out in the morning, but then he considers how embarrassing it would be and how little he actually wants to be around people right now, so he nods at Steve and leans on him a little too much on his way out. Steve gets behind the wheel and automatically hands him a water bottle when Bucky finds inside as well. He finishes it before they arrive at Bucky's house, empty in a semi-permanent state.

            Wordlessly, Steve gets up to open up the car door for his friend and gets him to the porch, and Bucky leans against it, sobered up just a little.

            "This is the part where you kiss the girl goodnight," Bucky jokes, giggling stupidly. On the inside, he shivers at the thought, not thoroughly in aversion. Yes, it’s the dumb things his drunk self considers sometimes.

            "Jerk," Steve mumbles, fishing out Bucky's keys from his jean pockets, brushing against his crotch unintentionally, at which Bucky jolts in surprise. Steve either acts like he didn’t notice or he really didn’t, opens up and gets them inside.

            Bucky plunges on the couch, and Steve rests his elbows on the armchair to its right. Silence takes over from there again, only now missing the buzz of plenty other people around. Bucky checks his phone, expecting any sign from a certain someone, though knowing it’s a lost cause. That chapter is done for the next few months, at least until he returns from France.

             "If it’s any comfort, you deserved better," Steve mumbles, honesty sticking to slight annoyance directed clearly at Brock. Bucky snorts, turning to the side. Bucky is surprised he picked up what the checking was about, but then again, it’s him who’s drunk and obviously bad at hiding his sulk.

            "Probably not," he mumbles back. It’s funny Steve chooses to talk about it now. Until now, Bucky strictly assumed Steve just didn’t care about what Bucky had and lost. "I'm a goddamn idiot for buying dust."

            Steve leans forward, seeming unsettled, and fucking keen on addressing the subject a _month_ later. "There's so many people who'd just die to have you and Brock isn't worth a single thought you waste on him, never was." The last words he almost spits, and Bucky wonders how so much hatred for someone he barely knew can fit into those lungs.

            Bucky, knowing he's being a jerk, snorts again. "You know shit about him,” he defends the guy who screwed him over, and as he realizes it, he adds, “Alright, he’s an ass.”

            Steve comes closer, placing a hand on Bucky's shoulder as he sits down next to him. “Maybe find yourself someone else?” he suggests, and Bucky’s head tilts up. He actually considers it. And he thinks about it once again, realizing how miserable he must look, moping about this. He sits up on the couch, head still spinning a little.

            “Stay, please?” Bucky mumbles, throwing his arms around Steve a bit uncoordinatedly. Steve’s lungs release a huff and he turns his face to the side so his nose touches Bucky’s cheek. Steve’s breath tickles, so Bucky buries his chin deeper into the crook of his neck. Steve nods just slightly.

            “Ever noticed how sweet you get when you’re drunk?” Steve remarks. Bucky pouts, which Steve can only notice from the corner of his eye, but of course he does. The drumming he hears underneath Steve’s skin must be his heartbeat, and it’s pretty wild at the moment.

            “Else I’m just made from bitterness and sarcasm,” Bucky assures him.

            “I like both versions, and the ones in between. I like the way you are, Buck.” Bucky hides his face impossibly deeper in Steve’s chest. He’s tearing up now. He never minded crying, but right now, the reason is just too dumb. No one’s told him the routine condolences and comforting words, but that was more his fault than anyone else’s. He was pretty sure he didn’t need them at all, he avoided them on purpose for a whole month.

            It took two calls from Natasha to get him out of his shell. As for that, she didn’t exchange a word with him all night after leaving two life-threatening messages on his voicemail if he chose not to come by the beach house. Now the words he’d secretly been dying to hear are filling him up with warmth again, and he shifts away just enough to meet Steve’s eyes, his warm smile. Steve is sober and he’s saying those words so earnestly that it hurts.

            His friend doesn't flinch when Bucky strives forward and their lips meet, a chaste contact developing into slow movements. Bucky's heart never slows down the whole time. It's strange he never acted on this weird impulse before ( _weird,_ not new, for the record), doesn't know why he is doing it now. Steve lands on the cushions and silently pleads for more, and Bucky doesn't notice the wheezing in Steve's lungs until he's stealing air from Bucky's.

            "Fucking asthma." Steve croaks, trying to get himself back to normal while Bucky pats his back, trying not to think at all, afraid to spoil it.

            It's nice to not be lonely for a while. He's breathing a little heavier as well, kissing Steve's neck when the guy assures he's fine again, finding a soft spot behind his ear. The exploration is strange, because this is his friend, someone he knew since, what, first grade probably? Now he's gently pushing up the hem of his shirt and kissing the bony shoulders and tracing his ribs underneath his fingertips. Steve sits in his lap now, shallowly thrusting against him, as if unsure if it's okay — _and damn right it is_ — while supporting himself on the back of the couch. Bucky palms Steve's crotch, watching him bite his lip as he's groping it, never too rough.

            Bucky interrupts to get his own shirt off and place Steve on the couch to get him out of the swim shorts and his mouth on his dick. He gets his mouth around it and shifts up and down rhythmically, getting whimpers in exchange. He likes this, he likes being this close to someone, he likes the sounds Steve makes. Way too late he realizes a whimper slipped into the room that was no one’s but his own. Steve's legs tense when he gets to the tip he groans at the generous attention.

            "Bucky... Fucking... Stop!" he exhales, so Bucky does. It throws him off immediately, out of the short timed bliss, the possibility that it could actually be this great for a second. He almost forgot how drunk he actually is. They exchange eye contact, but it doesn't last. How could it? There's too many questions in Steve's confused eyes, so many Bucky couldn't answer if he wanted to. He scared Steve off, he made him uncomfortable. Maybe he fucking _hurt_ him.

            “Are you…” Bucky doesn’t get to finish his thought. Goosebumps grow on his skin the second realization hits him. He's an idiot, he never should have... He shouldn't have done this.

            “I can… I can bring you a blanket, you shouldn’t make your mom worry at this time.” His additional muttered apology doesn’t make it far and he doesn’t have the nerve to repeat it. There’s more loath in him than soul, more hatred towards whom he is and what he _just_ did, and all he wants is to take it back. He returns with the promised blanket, drops it without looking at Steve. It’s been a mistake, and they should just pretend it never happened.

            Bucky anticipated his hangover, but it doesn't hold him back from getting his hopes high that he dreamt whatever he thinks happened yesterday. But the blanket is still there; a plaid mix of a Bordeaux and Navy blue, only Steve missing under it. God, it was often part of their pillow forts when they were kids, and the colors are washed out from overuse, and suffered through millions of threats to be thrown out already. Around here, nothing is kept for that long; blankets, wives…

            His head is killing him, and he drops on the bottom of the stairs, about to give in to his self-pity and cry. _You're a fucking idiot_ , James. He launches his head weakly against the railing, do anything to distract him from his biggest mistake so far.

            Steve. What could he possibly feel right now? God fucking knows what it meant, why Steve held on for quite a while if it was that insufferable the whole time. Bucky looks outside, noticing only his own car in the driveway. He goes for the bathroom, takes something against his headache and sits a good twenty minutes on the closed toilet seat, speculating whether he should go out or not. His hunger seems to have left him for the long round, so he tries to survive this day with loads of water and the TV permanently on, lowest sound setting so the sitcom laughs are only mildly distinguishable from a car passing by outside. His headache can’t handle much past that, despite Steve’s efforts back in the car to prevent it.

            Sunday passes like this; he doesn't look at his phone, nor does he recharge it when it runs out of battery. He takes a few minutes to open the windows each of the following days to get some air into the stuffy house, but even with five fans pointing at his bed, he can't sleep. He’s falling back into his pattern before Saturday night. He never should have broken it in the first place. He’s better off like this. Where he can’t hurt anyone, where he can’t be hurt.

            His father might have called home once or twice; it doesn’t matter. He spends an entire night getting to the next Prestige in Call of Duty, maybe two more (at some point, his brain shuts off), and he's completely disoriented by the time he wakes up on a Wednesday, plugs his phone in and is met by about twenty messages in total. Steve asked him to come over thrice, all of which were shrugged off with “okay nvmd” in the end (fucking hell, the guy texted him after all of it?) and Natasha sniffed out the entire situation and required Bucky’s explanation. Then one from Clint wanting to meet up at his place and some from his mother. Probably something about her holidays in Burma, without the kids.

            With a sigh, Bucky gets up and downs about three cups of coffee to regenerate and meet Steve, who, according to his usual routine, should be at lunch with his mother at the hospital right now. Although she has two shifts today, both on Fridays and Sundays, Steve still wants to spend at least one meal per day with her. With the little courage up his sleeve Bucky has, he jumps into the car and drives to the hospital, or else he’ll never apologize, and it doesn’t seem right through text. If he's lucky, he won't get beaten up by Natasha after he solved the mess.

            Bucky spends a good twenty minutes in the warm-up stages of the day with sunglasses on his nose and a cigarette between his teeth before he sees Steve leave the hospital. The flame of the grit dies under his shoe and he strives towards him, grabbing Steve's arm, attempting gentle. The second blue eyes register him, Steve flinches like he's touched a cockroach, _and that's probably true, that's what Bucky is as from now_. He stops in his tracks, shaking Bucky's grip off. The look Steve gives him is just surprised, nothing more. And _that_ massively irritates Bucky. Not hurt, not anger, not disgust. The surprise of someone who didn’t expect a friend to snoop him out at the hospital, which is just logical, but in reality, isn’t it anything but that?

            “What are you doing here?” Steve inquires, and apart from visibly turning a darker shade of red, isn’t acting all that unusual.

            His black skinny jeans disappear under the way too big white band shirt, accentuating the tons of wristbands on both arms. His hair is messy, hiding some of the zits on his forehead. Bucky pulls the glasses off his face and frowns at the sun directly burning into his eyes. He doesn't know how to even start. Anything he could say might be the wrong thing, and with his luck it's hard to tell whether there is a _right_ in this situation.

            “I'm sorry,” is what makes it out. “I didn't mean to” — _violate_ you, he wants to say, but if the words make it through his filter, it will become too real — “hurt you.”

            Steve's eyebrows shoot up in disbelief, then he looks sideways, as always when he's not sure what to say. Whatever is on his mind, he shrugs off. Upset rises in Bucky's stomach, because all he needs is Steve to be angry at him, hate him even, not the sympathetic look that makes it so hard not to yell. “Bucky, it's alright. You didn’t.” Bucky almost buys it.

            "I'm sorry,” he says again, hoping his voice doesn't shake too much.

            And there it is, that excuse of a smile on Steve’s face again. Yet Bucky can't let it drop just like this. He needs to try and wash his guilt out, not allow Steve to think this isn’t what he was good for. Bucky meant his apology.

            “Are you free tonight? House is still empty, we can grab a movie or play Halo. Got one more week,” he suggests. Steve looks back at the hospital building, where the sun reflects in the windows, and his eyes grow narrow by the brightness. He shouldn't be out here for much longer or he'll burn badly pretty soon.

            “Sure, Buck.” The smile looks forced, heartbreaking and hurting all at once. So Steve _is_ uncomfortable, despite being the one to text him afterwards. Bucky needs to do it all the same. To prove a point. Things are still okay between them, they'll laugh about it in a year, confess during a truth or dare and get over it.

            On his way back, Bucky gets a six pack with a fake ID and cleans up his room, prepares the console and picks a random choice of movies. Not like it matters. It's a few hours into the afternoon, but he doesn't feel like doing anything productive until then. In the end, he sleeps off the caffeine breakdown that hits in and wakes up to Steve ringing the doorbell. Subsequently, his bladder nearly bursts. He curses the coffee, opens up first, excuses himself wordlessly and disappears in the bathroom, returning moments later. Standing in the hallway, the air is thick with awkwardness, but he tries to stir it up by easing the silence.

            "I hope you seized the day for the both of us,” he tries to joke, running his hand through his probably awful looking bed hair, following Steve who is walking upstairs.

            “Went to the library and grocery shopping, you can have forty percent.” Steve tells him matter of factly, cut a little too short for Bucky’s liking. At least one of them is trying here.

            They reach Bucky's room and Steve drops on Bucky’s beanbag, and time seems to stretch as Bucky avoids looking at Steve. He has questions, on top of the list why they never talked about sex before, or anything surrounding it. He doesn’t even have any information on whether Steve has any particular preference, it was never brought up. Also he wants to know why having his tongue on his best friend’s dick didn’t feel awkward mid-process (more like the opposite, but hey, he doesn’t feel like _two_ breakdowns in the past four days). But none of those seem like they could be answered any time soon.

            Steve releases two beers from the back and rips one open with the other (using a considerable amount of effort) and handing it over to Bucky. “If you’re up to ‘clear’ your conscience, let me pick take-out tonight.” And with that, Bucky has the impulse to kiss him. It's absurd, a big question mark in his head blinking red, and he tells himself it's out of habit. He's more responsive to the sappy shit than he'd ever admit aloud. _Fuck_ , he’s thinking about that with _Steve_ , who just declared to forget the whole thing, _clear_ and start afresh.

            "Go nuts, card is on the nightstand. I'm just going to shower real quick."

            Bucky returns in a change of clothes and damp hair. Steve informs him Chinese is on its way — not that he's in the mood for it, but Steve included his usual favorites, which is a considerate gesture — and they start with the first chronological _Star Wars_ movie, beers slightly touching and shoulders only few inches apart from the way they spread on Bucky’s bed. It’s their usual positions, or something like that, and yet Bucky is hyper aware of everything.

            He doesn't eat much; the rice is slightly overcooked and some of the dishes are way too spicy. With Steve's horrible eating habits, it looks like they end up with more food than they had to begin with, so they return to the beer. The downside of this is that their semi-empty stomachs make them incredible light-weights, and Bucky is tipsy by the third one.

            The movie ends, and Bucky doesn't feel like putting in the next one. Instead, a naive curiosity grips him, his restrains eased up by the beer as he leans forward to touch Steve's face with the back of his hand

            "What is it?" Steve asks into the dimness of the room. “Do I have Sriracha on my face?” Bucky doesn't push it, laughs and gradually leans in, inclining his head until he's just a small breath away from Steve's lips.

            “Bucky…”

            There's no resistance when Bucky collides them into a kiss, and he's squeezing his eyes, unsure what to feel, but Steve's response gets his pulse up quickly, their mouths connect leisurely, almost without effort. He stops asking himself what he is doing, for all the questions in the world won't make him go 'hold on, back off' because _this feels good._ Steve is a good kisser, and each soft moan is tiny needle in Bucky's heart about to spill it all. And he is uncertain what the cause of this is; his grief, his anger, his frustration, his desire for intimacy or just a frantic collision of it all with some late hormonal peak in the late stages of his physical development. Either way, all of this only makes him go on, and none of it throws Steve off, which is soothing, but scary all the same.

            “Tell me to stop if you need me to,” Bucky mumbles, considering it important enough to voice it, his fear left behind.

            "Seems like they didn't teach you in Consent 101 that getting all serious all of a sudden tends to spoil the mood real quick," Steve complains, eyes half closed and smirking. _Did Steve have a_ tutor  _or something?_ It’s surprising that Steve seems experienced.

            But still, there’s no actual mood to speak of. Bucky doesn’t feel aroused, more anticipating and curious in which direction this can go. Past the weirdness of kissing the guy he borrowed pencils from and for whom he got punched into the pavement, this is new territory, and an entirely new sensation. He can't put an exact label on it just yet, because neither does he have romantic feelings for Steve nor does he leave Bucky completely cold, and he's struggling for a middle ground like finding the perfect temperature in the shower. Bucky's tongue moves past Steve's lips and it gets difficult to breathe, especially for Steve as it goes on.

            “If you want to try, you can fuck me tonight,” Bucky mutters into a certainly needed break. He cleaned himself up, a little eager but also just curious. Steve nods weakly. It was never divided into bottom and top with Brock, they permanently switched during their time together. “But we don't have to, not at all.”

            "S'okay, Buck. Just don't rush. It's okay." Bucky wants to bath in his soothing voice, and the fact that he didn’t say _No._ Steve could end wars with the calmness it possesses, whisper to the most hate filled demons until they are sent into a restful sleep and clear him of any sins from his _last_ life. If Steve wanted to. Most of the time, he’s being the biggest jerk when he opens his mouth at Bucky.

            When it leads to sex – after so much kissing, Bucky already forgot how to speak English – they’re so fucking careful, mostly because Bucky thinks he has to make up for yesterday, and because he hasn’t bottomed for _quite_ a while. And it stings, he’s nervous and a little too tense for this to be perfectly enjoyable, but he isn’t sure whether he’s allowed to let go even.

            Head dizzy and caught in the moment, he can't form a clear thought being spread for Steve, seeing his face red and sweaty. He doesn't know why they're face to face, Steve rocking in and out of him. It's scary but it's hot and Steve is so fucking gentle about it… Fucking him through the slowest he possibly can, a punishment all on its own. 

            _Fuck, fuck fuck fuck fuck._ He's chanting and whimpering from the little sensations, of being this close to him. He has Steve inside him, God, how could it ever come to this?

            Steve shakes his head, tears in his eyes… Bucky reaches for his wet cheeks, wipes the thickest tear away before he pulls him down for a kiss. A reassurance. He doesn't know its meaning himself.

            A second later, Steve pulls out of him, an inadvertent grunt leaves Bucky’s chest. “Goddamnit, Bucky.” He wipes his running nose, and Bucky shivers at how wet it is. “Fucking shit, what is this supposed to…” he mumbles, and Bucky draws back against the headboard, alert and scared that he fucked it up again. He’s still hard, _painfully_ close to relief, but he thinks about something else, because this situation isn't looking like anything good. _Baseball, baseball, baseball._ He doesn’t properly understand what just happened.

            "I fucking can’t. I… Fuck.” Steve looks like he’s gathering what to say, so Bucky gives him the time. It helps him get back on track, flag down his erection, sure, but he had worse. Steve isn’t usually like that. It’s all the way and sucking it up, even if he spits blood on the grass in a park. Where _hasn’t_ Bucky snatched him out of yet? Right now, he looks more hurt than any of those.

            “You ignore me for three fucking days and randomly decide to pop up with a muttered apology and I really don’t know where you’re headed with this." The condom lands in the nearby bin, giving Bucky the mental note to empty it later. Steve gets dressed again, and Bucky just watches him pick up his clothes in a trance. Steve doesn’t open his mouth until he’s done.

            “You ignored my texts. I was afraid you _hated_ me, Buck, do you know what that feels like? Hated by your _best friend_?” Bucky almost jumps at it, ready to deny it all, but the words don’t make it past his lips, remaining in a bubble of sincere thoughts. But he doesn’t understand why Bucky would hate _him_ for what happened, because it’s clear who made the first move. Who initiated it this time around. Bucky was right in the end. Steve _pretended_ it didn’t bother him, for _Bucky’s_ sake of course. Ever the fucking martyr.

            “I _don’t_ know.” Bucky grumbles back. “But why… I started it all, why aren’t you angry at me? I just, why you let it happen?" he spits out. Steve frowns and avoids Bucky’s gaze.

            "I thought it might make you feel better,” Steve admits, regret swinging with the words. Bucky could have told him from the start he wasn't worth that effort. And he certainly didn't need to be patronized, not by his best friend, whom he hasn't ever seen _that_ way until that night, who had refused to _talk_ about Brock until it all boiled over. This is driving him insane.

            Bucky draws back, grabs a pillow to cover his crotch. It’s all too revealing right now, and he doesn’t want to step on any more landmines. “Can you stop belittling me like I have no control over myself, like you’re the big bad wolf and I didn’t have a word to say? It’s just… For months, oh God, almost a _year_ , all you were was _Brock, Brock, Brock, Brock…_ And it only got worse when he announced his year abroad. You stayed in all the time, were usually to be found glued to your phone to text _him_ while _we_ were with you. And now he’s gone and all you can do is sulking about your loss, and honestly, I was ready to do _anything_ to put an end to it. If I can ask you to do one thing, it’s to _please_ get over him. He wasn’t worth it from the start. You didn’t deserve what you got, so stop trying to get it back. You’re hurting yourself. It needs to stop.”

            Bucky remembers he isn’t supposed to apologize anymore. “So, what about this?” he asks instead. He’s trying to look forward, for Steve’s sake.

            Steve returns to him, covering himself with Bucky’s blanket. His skin produces goose-bumps all over, and his heart shoots blood faster through his body than it’s supposed to. He doesn’t feel like finishing, but he’s indefinitely grateful that Steve isn’t that mad at him, and that there is a way to fix it. Maybe. Depending on Steve’s answer.

            “I don’t know. If we find a middle ground, I’m okay with the way things have become now.” He shrugs. “All we did is adding _doing_ to it.”

            “Yeah,” Bucky agrees. There’s certainly hope that this isn’t a dead-end situation, they’ll just… Well, fuck knows where this is leading, but at least Bucky feels like he has a grip on something.

            So, he found himself a fuck buddy. It’s ludicrous that out of all people, it turned out to be Steve. With his thin and pale, freckle-covered skin, his scoliosis and dirty blond hair he regularly bleaches; in the most absurd way, he’s great. Up to a point where Bucky envies his good qualities; his sense of duty and gratefulness, his self-awareness and bravery and his martyr complex that earned him more punches that acknowledgement in his life. Bucky knows he has to cherish every second, because it’s just the blink of an eye to graduation and Steve will have to fight himself through the exams to make it to the end of the year, and then…? There will be money for college, Bucky is certainly spoiled in that sense, but he doesn’t know where he wants to go, and whether he will, anyway. He’s not good enough to get _anywhere_ , but he can’t stay where he is, either.  


 


	2. Chapter 2

It’s a lazy Saturday afternoon. Bucky and Steve are mentally preparing to go outside and spend some time in the pool in Bucky’s backyard, but it’s still too scalding outside for Steve’s skin, so they waste time with the window open, watching an old episode of Friends that’s airing on TV.

            Bucky’s scrambled motivation for school was used up in the first week. A month later, he’s running on fumes. He has a cigarette between his lips, Steve got his sketchbook out and is doodling him, for as much as Bucky knows. Steve hates it when he peeks. Drawing consumes Steve whole; Bucky can come and go, put on _Bring Me the Horizon_ and start singing out of tune, but Steve’s eyes won’t leave the page for a second.

            “Do you think about someone else why we do it?” Steve asks, disturbing Bucky’s nicotine bliss unexpectedly. The question is mostly limited to Brock, but that doesn’t need to be pointed out loud. While Bucky also knows, out of politeness, he _should_ lie, but Steve asked in a way that doesn’t require a definite answer, since it sounds more like a test, so he uses Steve’s mistake in phrasing to escape the sandtrap as good as he can.

            “Sometimes,” he admits, huffing out the smoke. The fan does a good job blowing it away from them immediately.

            Steve sighs, flexing his muscles, or the little he has. It’s not the bothered reaction he’d been expecting, and admittedly, that makes Bucky suspicious. He’d been sitting there with his back crooked for about two hours, it was about time. He _never_ lets Bucky comment on it or try to set him right, always throws a fit like a little child whenever Bucky tries. That’s why Steve also gave up quick on talking him out of smoking, except now, he doesn’t let Bucky kiss him until the smell is gone. “I think about Peggy.”

            Bucky tries hard not to cough his lungs out. “ _The_ Peggy? Beach house Peggy, the one in my Lit class?”

            Steve groans, annoyed, and Bucky chuckles before taking another drag. He hears the bedding shift and sees Steve turned away from him.

            “Aww, come _on_ , I just didn’t think you still… Hey, you’re stubborn as fuck, I leave you that.” If it hadn’t been written all over Steve’s face, Bucky probably would have never found out about his crush on her in the first place. Steve had been head over heels for her when she was flat-chested and had cute chipmunk cheeks. She’s on top of their grade every year, honor student and all. In a nutshell, the opposite of Steve Rogers. Define star crossed lovers, or, well, sad high school crush. On some level, that calms Bucky. There’s someone else means that whatever they’re doing isn’t the real thing. A comforting thought, honestly.

            “I bet she’s great in bed,” Bucky mutters, rising up and crossing his legs to flick off the ash on the floor. He’d clean up eventually, _maybe_ even today.

            “Shut the fuck up,” Steve replies.

            Bucky continues chuckling. “What? I mean, come on. Can’t we be two normal dudes fantasizing about stuff like that?” He answers the question himself. _Not if those two dudes are fucking each other_. Maybe that’s the price he’s gotta pay.

            Steve gets up, ignoring him and walks to the window. A fresher breeze blows inside, and the sun looks tamed for the day. “Worst is over. We going downstairs or not?” Bucky nods, extinguishes the cigarette and follows him wordlessly. They strip their shirts off and drop them aside. Bucky watches Steve plunge into the water; it’s loud, awkward and probably painful, but he rises from the water looking relieved, shaking his bangs from his face like a wet dog. Bucky follows. Not to praise himself, but his jump _is_ more graceful than his friend’s. Steve’s face reads _show off_ when Bucky reappears next to him. The water is cold, but it does a good job waking them up from the stiff day.

            There are steaks in the fridge waiting to be grilled tonight, since Nat brings along Clint and he brings along the pot. And they have to enjoy that there were urgent matters his father needed to attend, right in The City, but instead of driving back, he’s more of a fan to stick around in a hotel for the night. Sadly, he’s been home more frequently as of late, resulting in more fights and causing Bucky’s anxiety to peak at school. Not like he needed it, on top of handling Rumlow’s buddies eyeing him condescendingly.

            They lay back most of the time, swimming relaxed rounds and splash at each other, having _regular_ fun before they move to a corner for make out purposes. The taste and smell chlorine is highly unpleasant, but who gives a shit when Steve is grinding against him and moaning into his mouth? Who gave him the right to sound that delicious when he's horny? _Who gave him the right to keep that a secret for_ so long?

            "Hey, no pool sex just yet," Steve mutters, shoving Bucky away with a smile. Bucky feigns outrage, since Steve was the one leading him on, but understands. It isn't like a sore ass is a great weekend souvenir, as they’re trying to enjoy the good weather while it lasts.

            "I cooled down by now, wanna grab the steaks and get the potatoes ready?" Bucky offers. Steve agrees, and they occupy the kitchen until Clint and Nat arrive.

            The farther strives in with, "Any surfaces I should avoid? Please tell me now." Bucky immediately turns to Steve.

            “You should sit on the floor,” Steve advises him, making Bucky chuckle as he carries the meat over. It’s a lie, they haven’t fucked like rabbits or anything lately. And apart from a few exceptions, it’s just blowjobs. Steve has a very skilled mouth on him, though he’s never accepted Bucky’s offer to return the favor so far. Not since Bucky’s first drunk attempt.

            Bucky handles the grill, some ultra-modern bullshit with approximately twenty settings and buttons and fuck knows what, but at the very least, the results are good. Even Steve manages half a steak and some of the grilled vegetables, and if that isn't a compliment, Bucky has to rethink his values.

            They light up the fire pit and open up the marshmallows while Clint rolls the joint. Nat hums against his shoulder, to the song playing from the outdoor speakers, and Steve soon enough joins.

            Both of them dived deep into the sea of indie, but for as much as Bucky knows, Twenty One Pilots is playing. Clint eyes him, looking jokingly pained at the soundtrack supply as he gets it done with and lights the joint against the bonfire. The smell of marijuana waves over to Bucky quickly, salty and strong. He takes it from Clint, who pulls his pierced marshmallow away from the fire and bites into it. Wordlessly, Nat drags it over to her mouth and gets her share, never mind that she has her own to worry about. Bucky takes a long pull until the fire in his throat feels beyond nasty, then passes it on to Steve.

            Now, Steve is a lightweight, no matter what it comes to. He’s tipsy after one beer and sedated by the third, two long pulls (if his asthma allows him) make him go out like a light. It inflicts Bucky be more careful about his intake. It’s a thing; they watch out for each other. And he thinks back to the aftermaths of Peggy’s beach party and plays with the thought that it was just an extension of an unspoken promise. Steve takes it this time like a champ, doesn’t cough until he’s struggling to get the leftover smoke out of his lungs, but no one comments on it. Nat makes herself a S’more in the kitchen, Clint and Bucky pass the joint to each other until she’s finished, and she gets the rest. For a while, they just let it sink in.

            Nat and Steve do an incredible job of following through the entire rap part of ‘Car Radio’ until something from Death Cab for Cutie comes on. And that’s as deep as his knowledge goes. Who even let Steve pick out the music in the first place? _Oh, right._ The second Bucky attempts to put on something from his own repertoire, there’s loud protests from every corner. So his iPod remains untouched most times they meet up, because you try and argue with Natasha fucking Romanoff and Steve fucking Rogers.

            It’s a great feeling. He feels so incredibly heavy, like lifting a finger would require all of his strength, but his heart flutters like a freed bird. His smile is permanently transfixed, and so is Steve’s. His friend punches him softly, but the impact throws Bucky off balance and he almost falls out of his basket chair.

            “Aww, you punk,” he mutters, the words making it past his lips much slower than they should.

            “Speaking of which,” Clint throws in wise-assly, “’punk’ refers to one’s younger homosexual lover as well.” He grins like that’s the funniest thing he ever said, sunken deep into the loveseat he shares with Nat. Both Nat and Steve simultaneously give him a judging look that draws the corners of his mouth back down again, while Bucky titters to himself.

            “So it fits,” Nat says, adding color to Steve’s face. He looks exposed, and Bucky doesn’t want Nat playing with Steve like that.

            “Aw, come on,” Bucky whines jokingly, drawing his roasted marshmallow away from the fire. Somehow, Natasha makes him feel particularly _responsible_ about the shifted dynamics, and for some reason, she’s very displeased. They kind of figured out the bad stuff, so why the big deal? Bucky doesn’t get it. The pot softens Natasha, so she drops it for now.

            “Anyone care for a drink? Still got some rich people liquor no one would notice if it disappeared,” Bucky lies, because last time, he’d been threatened to spend the rest of his summer at his mother’s house if it happened again. Bucky is a bit sluggish and spills more vodka than he pours, but it looks pretty decent when he’s done. Natasha doesn’t waste her time, taking two shots seconds apart from each other, while Clint and Bucky have a simple beer to get their mouths wet again.

            Bucky made sure there wasn't more vodka in Steve's drink than necessary for the right amount of a kick and he secretly keeps eyeing him over stupid discussions about life and God and love, and Bucky isn't paying much attention to what he's saying, pretty fucking gone already. But it doesn't seem like either of them are all that focused on what’s actually said, until Nat ― drinking them under the table ― makes it her job to tuck them in when the gibberish gets too much, shoving Clint inside first. Judging by the lights that go on, he and Nat are taking the guest room, which leaves Bucky's bedroom to Steve and himself. Then, Nat picks up Steve and when Bucky wants join carrying him up, she stops him, dropping Steve's sluggish body right on the couch. Steve doesn't put up any fight, although he seems conscious.

            “What are you doing?” Bucky tries weakly, but she simply shakes her head.

            “Go upstairs, I don't want to see you right now,” she hisses, waving him off. Bucky swallows the lump in his throat and does as told, because he isn’t in the condition to fight Natasha right now. To be honest, there is no optimal condition to face that silent storm of a woman. He stumbles on the last step, cursing quietly. Natasha doesn't notice, but when he shifts to get up soundlessly, Nat speaks up.

            “Goddammit Rogers, why are you so stupid?” Bucky hears Steve's moan in response.

            “Don't need you to watch out for me. I can take care of it myself,” he says, surprisingly sober for how he looked just now.

            Natasha laughs dryly. "Clearly, it looks like _all_ you ever wanted." Bucky doesn’t follow, isn’t sure whether he’s supposed to know what it’s about. He shouldn’t be eavesdropping anyway. Although moving now would get him into a more awkward position that not doing so. Curiosity keeps him transfixed, and partly the effects of the drugs.

            “It’s the best I can get.”

            “Then break it off.” Nat suggests coolly. Bucky raises suspicions in the back of his mind. Heavy suspicions that are the only thing that _fits_ , unless Steve is in two very complicated relationships right now. He doesn’t want to sound like an awful friend, but what are the chances of that?

            “I think I'm in too deep, might as well go all the way.” Oh boy, he _can_ be in pretty deep. Bucky’s incredible self-restraint prevents him from laughing out loud in the last second, but a sobering thought helps, too.

            It doesn’t make sense. If Steve is forcing himself to be a _very_ good friend… isn’t that going a _little_ too far? And wouldn’t Bucky notice if Steve wouldn’t enjoy it, or is he _that_ deluded? Considering, he barely noticed it the first time. He cringes, because that makes him even more conflicted and disgusted by himself.

            “You're the only one who ends up hurt here.” Nat argues.

            Steve snorts agitatedly. “How do you know?”

            Nat sighs, Bucky frowns. He's always felt strongly for his best friend, but it was never meant to be with him like this, the sex and all that jazz.

            "Does it feel that way to you?" she asks, softly. “I know you're such a tough one and you can withstand anything, but you came to me after it happened and you were so fucking scared... You think it's okay when he treats you that way?”

            That’s where Steve went the next morning. Bucky doesn’t mind all that much that Nat wants to kill him anymore. Bucky has no right to hurt because he was hurt, that’s not how it works. And for fucks sake Bucky, do that to _Steve_ of all the people? Giving Tony Stark a long overdue punch in the face would have done the job.

            “He’s not that bad. I suppose that’s the most I can expect after his shitstorm of a relationship.” A pause. Bucky's eyes sting and it's impossible to swallow. “He changed, do you see that? And I still... Fuck.”

            “Yeah, I do. Of course I do. Remember when he nearly gave up on calling himself ‘Bucky’? And you stubbornly kept on calling him that.”

            “It’s because Brock called him _Jim_. Couldn’t give him the satisfaction.” _God_ , Bucky wants to make them stop, but now that it’s so quiet, he’d be heard if he moved. He presses his palms to his ears, so that only muffled sounds get through to him, and he misses some part of the conversation. A soft laugh from Steve, if it gets through correctly.

            Blood rushes through his ears. He becomes self-conscious of his breathing pattern, tries to push the air inside and out as quiet as he can. After a while of this accidental meditation, Bucky can’t bear the unknowingness for much longer. He sets his hands aside.

            “Okay. Sleep well?” Steve says with a hint of wrapping up the conversation. Bucky’s pulse throws a fit.

            “Aye, Captain,” Nat replies jokingly. That’s Bucky’s cue. Blankets shift and skin rubs against leather; gross sounds echo as Bucky rises up and jumps up the stairs before Nat follows up.

            Through the slit in the door he hears Nat walking into the guest room and a thump as she shuts it. His own bedroom is hot, stuffy but most of all, empty. He doesn’t sleep well.

Bucky is reminded once again that Tony often can’t seem to stuff it. He goes on and on about this senior who forbid him to park wherever the fuck he liked, never even trying to quiet himself down before Mr. Banner does it for him, and Bucky thanks him in silence. He likes Tony in limited proportions, because he rarely amuses anyone but himself. At least he hasn’t picked up on Bucky’s rock bottom mood yet, else the questions would start and he’d eventually dig up.

            Out of the lab, he sees Steve running down the corridor. He’s torn between running away or towards him, but Peggy Carter takes that conflict right from him, throwing him off guard in the same breath. She chats Steve up, and Bucky can see him blush from right there on the spot. She seems just polite, or at least he _hopes_ as he walks into the nearby bathroom before he can come up with a smarter plan. The confession Steve delivered to Nat doesn’t correspond with what he told Bucky earlier, about being into Peggy and all. So he can’t make out anything about the situation at hand.

            “Gonna powder your nose or just keep staring at my junk, twat?” he hears as if he woke up. The guy taking a piss in front of him, having apparently no respect towards female genitalia gives him another look, and Bucky leaves sooner than he can reply anything snarky and risk being splashed at or whatever.

            Good thing Steve is always there when it’s most inconvenient. It bothers him _a lot_ that he’s still chatting with her. A picture he’s unused to, guiltily missing the Steve with his head down. This one stands proudly despite a slightly deformed back and respiratory problems, like he could go without Bucky in an instant. All confident in his body and _happy_. From where he stands, he looks admittedly handsome, something Bucky never minded before. Hell, he’s not blind, he knew he didn’t care about gender since he was thirteen and Steve was never considered ugly in his head, it just so happened that he never filed him into the ‘attractive’ category.

            Steve turns, sees Bucky, waves and leaves for class. So should Bucky, probably, if he wasn’t thrown off by the cut short gesture. Obviously, the cheeriness isn’t his doing (or fault), so it must be something _Peggy_ said to him. The rage green monster is sending his compliments. Despite the frustration building up, he’s straight in these halls, so he can’t exactly just go for it and prove a point to her. There’s a huge gap between what _is_ and what Steve apparently feels, and another planet between what Bucky wants and what he feels. Bucky would have preferred finding out one after another instead of this confusing info dump shoved onto him. It makes him unsure whether _he_ wants to pursue what they have. Because it really depends on Steve how far he can open himself up to him, in that more-than-butt-naked kind of way. He’s unsure if he _wants_ to. At least with Brock, it was easier. He told him to leave if things got complicated at the very beginning. But with Steve, that would be cowardly to do.

            Class, right.

            The near-empty halls fix his priorities, even if only temporarily. Peggy probably doesn’t notice the glare he shoots forward, oblivious to his inner turmoil as he is to this class.

            It’s Natasha who he seeks out eventually.

            She’s burning smokes behind the school building and joins her quietly. Before he even speaks, she raises the hand with the grit squeezed between index and middle finger, and says, “Not before I finish this.”  
            So they smoke. A little further ahead is a group having their share of nicotine for the day, stupidly laughing at a video someone is playing on their shattered iPhone screen. On days like these, he tugs Darwinism close to his chest and prays, until it hits him that one of them is a good friend of Brock and shooting him nasty side looks every now and then. How much would he get into trouble if he pressed the cigarette bud into his ugly neck?

            Nat exhales her last breath particularly at them, throwing him out of the glare he was holding on to.

            “What is it?” she asks, tossing the butt away. He takes a few more pulls out of his own before following.

            “I don’t want Steve hurt,” he says, practically out of nowhere. But Nat doesn’t need much exposition on this, nor did she ever. She’s good at picking up things quickly, and he’s grateful she _doesn’t_ punch him in the nose for this. There will be a time in the nearby future where she most likely will.

            “I get that,” she replies easily.

            “But I’m also not sure if I… want this.” He’s turning his back at the distracting boodle of dumb-asses to get his mind focused a little better on the situation. It’s strange, because all day he has been thinking little about anything else, yet now that he has to rationalize it _without_ giving away that he eaves-dropped, it’s one hell of a task.

            “Too soon after Brock?” she tries helpfully.

            “Yeah, but. Also no.”

            She raises her eyebrows and nods, as if to say, ‘Yeah, well, that explains it.’

            “I’m not so sure we’re doing this right. We never talk afterwards.” Steve is _deflecting_ , Bucky wants to say. It’s too much responsibility knowing Steve _likes_ him, wants maybe more than friendship and Bucky doesn’t think he can do that again, or ever, all while giving him _half_ of what it means to be together. Why can’t it be that simple? Why can’t they go back to easy stuff that hurts less and doesn’t allow him to overthink?

            “You getting suspicious all on your own?” _Bull’s eye._ She’s either aware and expects a confession or she never doubted he was going to listen.

            “No,” he admits. “I overheard you when you guys were over at my place.” 

            “Meaning now that you know what he feels you don’t want him anymore.”

            “I _never_ wanted him like that unt–”he breaks himself off before he says too much. “I don’t feel comfortable discussing this while _they_ are here.” He points behind him as Nat’s face shoots closer to his.

            “Or maybe you don’t want to admit to yourself that you felt something similar.” Her voice is quieter and supposedly calmer, but something shifts unpleasantly in his chest that begs to differ. He’s downright scared and he _knows_ she doesn’t need much more than a finger to cause him pain, and for Steve she would do much more than that. His fear turns into anger, like it always does. He doesn’t budge.

            “Kidding me? He’s my _friend_. A brother, if you like.” Bucky grits through his teeth. He doubts he’s convincing anyone here. He notices that Brock’s pack finally sets off elsewhere, which admittedly calms him down.

            Nat crosses her arms. “I absolutely _don’t_. Ever watched Game of Thrones?” Nat’s dry humor doesn’t do him any favors, as it makes it harder to stay focused instead of letting a laugh slip through.

            He did watch it, though. “Tasha! Help me out here.”

            She sighs into the sky and shrugs, completely giving up on him. “You’re an ass, that’s all I can say. You can’t admit it to yourself, so you won’t admit it to him either.  If you have some leftover decency, you’ll break it off before it’s too late.” she argues, and it hurts that she’s right. With him, there’s no good end to it.

            “How much will you hate me if I do?” he asks tentatively, not entirely serious.

            She raises her eyebrows. “Plenty. But even more if you don’t and Steve finds out what it’s like dating you.” She hits the nerve, stirs up the broth that is history.

            On the bright side (when has he ever known to be optimistic?), if Nat says it, he can take it as gospel. There is no possible way for this to end well, so he might at least avoid the collateral damage, even if it means he might lose Steve completely. He hugs Nat before getting to the parking lot and drive back home. After all, they both got back on track after dating, but then again, she was never _in love_ with him.

            It’s better this way, he doesn’t want his friend hurt because of him. God, he jumped into his fights over and over again, never even expected a thank you from the guy, anything but for him to try and dodge his next hospital visit or at least postpone it to next Thursday. He _does_ care, thank you much. Now why is it then that this comes so incredibly hard to him? Do Steve a favor, do _himself_ one, for fucks sake, and make everyone happy at once.

            If only.

            He unlocks the door and collapses right against the wall in the hallway. Homework can fuck off for a while, and he celebrates the emptiness of the building in silence.

            Bucky considers the risks. Neither of them are open about their sexuality, to no one except for their shared group of friends. Brock’s bunch kept their ugly mouths shut because Brock was in it, too, because exposing one would mean exposing the other, but alter one little detail, make one false accusation about Bucky making an _unwanted_ move at Brock and _that_ being the end of the story… If Brock wanted, he could have made Bucky’s life hell. What a small condolence he didn’t.

            But the closet thing puts Steve at risk, in the first place. Make hima target. Steve can say he can defend himself all he wants, but if anything happened to him, that would be on Bucky. It’s for the best, for anyone possibly involved, and Bucky just _has_ to get over himself and do the right thing, be noble the way Steve is, who puts himself last for Bucky’s needs when he needed it so much. That still costs him so much.

            The word he’s looking for is altruism, something he utterly lacks. Some people say it’s genetics, maybe it’s just an emotionally detached father and plenty of absence notes from a cheating, unhappy mother. They pursued their own happiness, never got much past the step of the noble gesture of giving birth to him. On one hand he’s happy Rikki and Bonnie got the luxury of care and love, but he suspects its more input from his mother’s latest finding in a replacement of a collapsed college marriage, or namely Andrew. Looking on the other side though, he envies that the girls got a decent family to grow into. All he’s reaping is the benefits of a seldom lively place, past the calls from the other resident disturbing the peace from time to time. He almost wants winter break to come sooner, get away from these ugly mint colored walls and into the cozy suburban cottage his mom’s husband set up for them. He’d have to endure the happy marriage surrounding him, but still, he would be mass murdering birds with a pebble. Steve, his father, school… Every last problem.

            His phone vibrates. By the time he gets it out of his pocket, there’s five messages from Steve piling up. In short, he’s invited to Peggy’s obsequy regarding the beginning of another school year and is kindly asked not to tell Tony about it. Seems that there’s issues with his cousin and subsequently with Tony himself. It’s complicated.

            Bucky replies before it hits him that he shouldn’t have. On the other hand, writing back ‘we should talk’ sounds like the dumbest thing if he wants to avoid fuzz. The last one says, _dude, i’m making progress on the peggy front. i think i only stuttered like what, twice?_

_impressive,_ Bucky plays along. If Steve wants to pretend that Peggy is still in the cards, it makes sense. It keeps Bucky from thinking this is serious, even if by now, that’s pretty redundant. Or maybe Bucky is wishfully hoping. Steve never explicitly said anything about feeling anything particular towards _Bucky_. Maybe he’s reading it all wrong. But does it matter? He has to call it quits, no matter whether it’s real now and Steve _loves_ Bucky or whether they’re both equally confused and in reality neither knows what they’re doing.

            Steve writes a little more about the party and the thing with Tony’s cousin, and Bucky inserts the appropriate emoticons and short replies to keep the conversation going. He doesn’t want it to end, despite his lame input and the selfishness burning him up. He wants to hold Steve, listen to his endless rants. He’s close to hitting the call button to hear his voice but doesn’t. Putting himself out there that openly again when he already knows the ride is over does come off a little masochistic, and it serves less than one person, so he buckles up tighter. Going back to simple would be great, meaning being deluded as hell to not even notice that his boyfriend is making the closet his permanent stay while secretly cheating on him while they date.

            There is no other way than to break it off. And yet would it be so much easier not to.

For the evening, he stays abstinent from alcohol, no matter how much _easier_ it would be with his old buddy Jack. What didn’t work last time won’t suddenly prove itself better this time round. And the setting is similar; Peggy’s beach house is filled with friends and strangers alike, and people hang out in the patio, this time with blankets covering their shoulders. He does join for a few rounds from Clint’s bong, listens to his idea to implement shower ideas for futuristic inventions until he sees a particular mass of blond hair and bony limbs hanging out inside the house. He’s chatting with Peggy again, she seems to smile and he grins fucking proudly. For a second, Bucky throws his head back and considers to leave them be, until his fogged brains make place for jealousy, his old nemesis and remind him that he shouldn’t feel so lighthearted about it. He wishes he would. Just sit out here, watch the two talk, hope they hit it off some day and she realizes how great Steve is. Now reconsidering it, they wouldn’t do that bad together at all. What bothers him is that Steve picked _now_ to overcome his shyness towards her, because they both seem to have a pleasant conversation and he’d hate to interrupt.

            No, he _really_ would.

            He empties Clint’s beer to avoid his mouth drying out and exchanges a look with Natasha, wishing for an easy way out of this. He doesn’t want to be alone. But he stomped into the porcelain shop, might get the broom now and fix the damage. Well, not exactly. He’s just making sure that everything is wrecked well enough for someone else to scope up the pieces. Someone who actually deserves Steve Rogers.

            Walking in reluctantly, he assesses the situation between them and malignantly hopes he is interrupting some very good flirting while he’s at it (he’s not ready to give over Steve that easily, regardless of how much he values Peggy as a friend) and places his hand innocently on Steve’s shoulder, at which he stops mid-sentence.

            “You got a minute?” Bucky asks neutrally, avoiding suggestive or making it an actual issue. Steve will find out soon enough.

            “Uh, yeah?” Steve replies, seeming torn between Peggy and him for a second. Bucky doesn’t try to reveal anything, just waves him outside to the shore. Steve quickly picks up his jacket and follows him past the patio outside, and they start walking in the cold sand towards the sound of the waves.

            “Should I be scared, Buck?” Steve asks jokingly, hands buried deep inside his pockets. The wind blows past his swimming shorts and ruffles through his hair, and he looks adorable in the dimmed lights coming from the house. Everything inside him revolts against doing this. But there’s something he learned about break-ups, and maybe his mother is not the best mentor at this, but he figured it’s better to make it quick and painful than to draw it out until it agonizes the very soul.

            “We can’t do this,” he says, and it doesn’t come easy. It’s not even loud enough, and with a silent prayer he hopes Steve heard him, while not wanting that all the same.

            “What?” Steve replies, seeming perplex and frowning at him. Whatever Bucky saw a second ago, that shine coming from his friend, it’s gone now.

            “I mean-”

            “I heard you. _Why?_ ” Bucky isn’t going to get hung up on the fact that it’s not what Steve originally asked.

            “I was drunk, I wasn’t – and I’m probably _still_ not – over Brock, and I shouldn’t have done what I did to you.” Cold water licks his naked feet, and if it only could just swallow him up...

            Steve shakes his head vehemently while Bucky is still talking. “Wait, I thought we were past this, I was fine with it, remember? Where is this coming from?” Bucky might be mistaken, but his worst fear is that it’s tears collecting in Steve’s eyes.

            “It doesn’t make it _right_.”

            “Well what _is_ right?” Steve’s voice is hoarse and he’s an inch too close to Bucky. One fucking inch that makes resisting so fucking hard. Just wrap his arms around Steve and tell him he didn’t mean it, that he’s sorry, that he won’t do this…

            He stays grounded, he promised it to himself.

            “I don’t want to hurt you, I don’t want to be the cause of the same pain that I am in.”

            “Well, how noble of you, jackass. But I’m not buying your shit. I told you I didn’t mind.” Each word is angrier and a little more desperate. Bucky knows the real side of things, wonders how long Steve has actually been lying to him about his feelings. “Unless it’s me you hate so much, please get your shit together instead of running away from a drop of responsibility.”

            Bucky tries, and tries harder, but the rage isn’t subsiding. Some part of him is sure Steve knows where he was aiming at, but he tells himself that’s not the reason. It’s not responsibility he’s scared of.

            “It’s not because of me!” Bucky shouts, completely oblivious to possible bystanders and not nearly enough interested if there are any.

            Steve’s eyes widen and his mouth gaps open for a second, letting the accusation sink in. Then he lowers his head, looking up to Bucky from the lower angle, but it’s Bucky who feels smaller all of a sudden. “The _fuck?_ Now it’s _me?_ ”

            “I heard you. I heard what you said to Natasha. This isn’t the relationship you want with me.” Bucky says. It slips out faster than it should have.

            “So _what?_ Last time I checked, you weren’t in for this for _my_ sake?”

            Bucky grimaces at the loss of more arguments, while it looks like Steve still got plenty. “Can’t you see that I’m doing you a favor?” he tries.

            “A _what_? Are you fucking insane? I _want_ this, I WANT this. Did I forget to mention that I-”

            “Do you have feelings for me?” Bucky wrings out before he can hear it one more fucking time. He wants Steve to say it, deny or confirm it. Either way does it, just give him something to work with, give him _some_ clarity in this mess. There’s no win in this situation. He’s either going to hurt Steve by telling him that it’s over or figure out this thing was pointless from the start.

            “Seriously?” Steve exhales angrily.

            “Please…” Bucky tries.

            Steve makes a circle in the sand, hands in his hair and teeth pulling his bottom lip.

            “I do.” he confesses. “I love you, Bucky. You happy? Got your answer? Still going to dump me because you don’t trust yourself one bit?” he asks, darkness swinging with his voice. He switched from the violent, emotional approach and went for passive aggressiveness. One more layer that rips Bucky’s grip on Steve away.

            “I have to.” Bucky insists. It _is_ the only way. If Steve feels this way and Bucky doesn’t, it means that this isn’t mutual, or honest, or fair. Although not expecting a perfect relationship, he considers those things crucial to a successful one, especially since none of those were included in his last. And Bucky knows that. It _changed_ him, as his friends nicely put it. He’s not what Steve deserves, and Bucky can’t give him better because he doesn’t _know_ better. He’s never had one that functioned, even Natasha, who could stop any plight single handedly didn’t make it past the one year mark, and even though they were younger and less experienced back then, they wouldn’t do better a second time around. But Natasha learned her lesson; she got Clint now, and he is just what she needed, what both of them needed. Which only makes Bucky all the more miserable.

            “Well fuck you,” Steve replies, walking away and back to the house.

            Bucky got a confession that was probably long overdue, but the completely wrong way. And instead of bringing them closer, all it did was split them apart. And the worst part? It hurts like fucking hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is actually just the second chapter of the _first_ part. There's so much crap to follow. Fucking hell.
> 
> Did I mention this was a prompt? Nope, I didn't (oh fuck sorry). It's based on Ingrid Michaelson's "I'm So Over You" (thus the title, surprise), and the piece of rainbow shit that got inspired me can be found here: angelthewarrior.tumblr.com
> 
>  
> 
> Also I don't think I'd be able to write _anything_ without 8tracks, so here's a bunch of amazing playlists that got me through it:
> 
> http://8tracks.com/scottiegriz/a-decade-under-the-influence
> 
> http://8tracks.com/nerfgun/a-subtle-kiss-that-no-one-sees
> 
> http://8tracks.com/mariusyouaredrunk/big-bad-world-a-modern-steve-rogers-bucky-barnes-fanmix
> 
> http://8tracks.com/pandemonio/after-hours
> 
> http://8tracks.com/arostark/tonight-i-ll-be-your-brooklyn
> 
> http://8tracks.com/angelthewarrior/ghosts-that-we-knew
> 
> http://8tracks.com/angelthewarrior/getting-to-know-you-again


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha! This is it, for part one. And the only reason why this is rated E.
> 
> Brace yourself for this longer chapter. It's just gotten a little out of hand, I guess. (I've been making this joke ever since I saw TWS and my friends hate me.)
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

Bucky expected Steve to ignore him, to walk past him and maybe glare when he passes by. But either Steve doesn’t – or can’t, which is worse – hate Bucky. Back when they were younger, Bucky didn’t mind. The sooner they made up the sooner they could get back to playing video games, but now, each little smile across the hallway is a punch to the gut and acid of shame pouring over him.

            Natasha is mad with how he handled it, and he is mad back at her, because what the hell did she think would happen? It would have surprised him if they would have parted quietly, not with how much Steve loves to show off the pit of rage inside him, and that, by all means, is nowhere near small.

            Steve’s gentle smiles also mean Bucky’s having a hard time resisting to talk to him, make weekend plans, complain about something random or the likes. The treatment Steve gives him is much worse than what he had been anticipating. That goes on for almost a week. On Friday, Steve walks up to him during lunch. Since Bucky has rarely seen him do anything past nibbling his food or drawing during the lunch break, that draws attention even if the situation was a normal one.

            “Twenty-four hours.” Steve says, with the intention to irritate the shit out of Bucky. _Well done._ “Give me twenty-four hours to prove you that I wasn’t trying for nothing this past month. That I wasn’t _torturing_ myself for the sake of it.”

            _How_ is what first comes to Bucky’s mind, after he recovers from the metaphorical whiplash of Steve’s words. Then _why_.

            But since his brain is on shut-down and Steve finally brushed off that smile of his, and is finally, _finally_ looking at him in that cold manner he deserves. Except the words aren’t what he wants to hear, not the hateful spitting he’d been anticipating. _I love you, Bucky. You happy? Got your answer?_

            What he wants is for Steve to resent him. Make this much simpler by just not trying any more for this… After he hurt Steve carelessly, he wants to cause more damage so Steve won’t want to make things good between them again. Because it would be better for both. There isn’t a stable ground they built this on, there is no real justification to pursue this.

            Bucky still hasn’t said anything. He looks at the ground, without having it in him to reject or accept the offer. Either would be a mistake, but eventually, he shakes his head.

            “Steve, I mean what I said. This isn’t right.”

            Steve nods. “You gonna list those two to three arguments to me once again? Let’s pretend, Bucky. Let’s do that. Let’s pretend I haven’t loved you since I was twelve. Imagine _I_ was someone you loved,” – at that, his voice lowers and he’s closer to Bucky now – “wouldn’t you give me this chance?” Steve is asking a lot from him, but in reality, it’s not that hard to imagine. He wouldn’t hurt him this way, but that’s not how it is. He doesn’t feel that way towards Steve.

            “Please.” Steve continues. “This is how I feel. Unless you hate me, I want you to let me try. I need to prove you that it’s worth it.” Steve needs to prove everyone that he isn’t weak, that he can stand up for himself, that he can do everything the way everyone else does. He’s missing the point that he doesn’t have to be like everyone else, but how can Bucky teach him that? He _is_ the average Steve is aspiring to become, but it would be a huge mistake, a fall backwards. When Bucky looks at Steve he forgets how to say No.

            “When?” he asks. Relief is written all over Steve’s body, and Bucky feels that tickling sensation, an electric shock straight to his chest.

            “Twelve at the hospital cafeteria.” Bucky nods. He’s scared all over, but he also wants to touch Steve. A hug is the best he can get away with, so he rises up from the grass and pulls him closer. He tries not to put too much into the gesture, ridiculously self-conscious and acutely aware of sending the right message.

            Steve accepts the touch, hugs back with little effort and nods weakly on his shoulder. They part and Steve walks off, and Bucky continues to spend his break alone.

            After school and at home, he does his best to avoid thinking, which leads to smoking and listening to classic rock bands until it’s amplified to chain smoking and blasting the entire house with Metallica because thinking is a tricky thing he’s so used to doing that it takes aching lungs, a sick feeling in the very pit of his stomach and a sore throat to keep him from doing it. At some point he cries, succumbing under that minimal pressure that the situation is putting on him. And screw that, he wishes he wouldn’t have to worry. But the question is, and remains, why Steve is trying to prove a point. But he owes him this, and it’s not that much; _six, twelve, twenty four_ _hours_. Once Steve fails and realizes that it’s been dumb from both sides, they’ll get past that and move on to something better… In Steve’s case.

            He’s thinking again. His hand reaches for the pack of cigarettes, emptied enough to have the lighter stacked inside and lights it up on his bed. For now, it doesn’t bother him that the sheets will stink, that _he_ will stink, and that he probably won’t sleep again. It happens before every test and anything remotely unnerving in his life. Bucky never knew how to be brave, he’s just shivering in the corner pleading for it to be over as soon as possible. The worry won’t get him anywhere this time, that’s the one thing he can hold onto tightly, because it’s a certainty. His worry will eat him up whole, choke him out again and start all over, and he wonders if that’s part of Steve’s doing, too. If he wants him to suffer, for what he did at the beach, be _this_ the point he wants to prove.

            But that’s unlike Steve. Anticipation makes him even more anxious.

* * *

 

            The sun might have taken a step back in California, but Bucky’s sunglasses sit proud on his face to mask the rings under his eyes at least for the little while it takes to get inside the hospital. He’s not the asshole who wears shades inside, no, he comes from a different league. Try to gently clear your throat at the guy who blames his best friend on his own misery.

            Remorse and his conscience led him back to Steve last time, now he’s a slave to the consequences of returning that day.

            Steve is at the cafeteria, looking surprisingly relaxed, almost like he’s savaging the situation he’s in. He has power over Bucky, now who wouldn’t enjoy that. With how muddled Bucky’s thoughts are, he trusts Steve with everything evil in the world, and he hates himself for that.

            Steve sees Bucky, but stays glued to the coffee machine, luring him over with so much but a glance. Steve and coffee don’t mix well together, but an unintentional smile shoots up to Bucky’s face when Steve throws in a coin and picks the option that’s least disgusting from an automatic machine in a hospital, and accidentally Bucky’s beloved Americano.

            “Sorry,” Steve says before anything else, pointing at his eyes, meaning the vampire shadows beneath them. Steve has seen him first handed not being able to sleep before certain days. This weak, hardly-smile appears on his face, the one that Bucky could fill a jar with at this point. He hands Bucky the coffee, and Bucky looks back in gratitude and surprise. Carrot and a stick method, then.

            For now it’s the best thing in the world, even if Bucky could have done a better job rehydrating himself before he went to bed. His head is killing him despite the Tylenol he took before getting behind the wheel.

            Bucky thought since they are at the hospital his mother works at, they are there because he just finished visiting her, but that unwavering logic starts to crumble once he interprets Steve’s look. They head out of the cafeteria, setting for a bench beside the fountain in the lobby. Bucky drinks his coffee quietly, trying not to let the awkwardness catch up to him. He’s tired, so it’s not complicated to achieve.

            “Remember when I got pneumonia in the middle of summer?” Steve asks, his knee bumping against Bucky’s. “You spent most of the break in here because you thought I might bite it.”

            “You were dumb enough to get sick when the sun was shining non-stop,” Bucky retorts defensively, not admitting that Yes, he’d been incredibly scared, because Steve was his only friend back in first grade, and his world mostly centered around spending time with him. Kids rarely like to think of plates getting cold because their parents can’t stop fighting over dinner or who’s picking them up from school tomorrow. Everywhere was better than at home, but with Steve it had been best.

            “Not everyone is dumb enough to think I wouldn’t make it,” Steve counters, and he’s talking shit again, fueling him to talk back and defend his behavior. Fuck him.

            “Why are we doing this?”

            “Well, call it a trip down memory lane. As for me, here I first realized what a good friend you were.” It’s genuine, and it throws Bucky off. Mixed with Steve’s gentle expression, Bucky wants to kiss him right there. No reason needed. “Back when I thought you were the only friend I would ever make.”

            “That stayed true until middle school,” Bucky teases, nudging his side while he finishes his cup. He doesn’t want to succumb to melancholy just yet.

            “Howling Commandos,” Steve exclaims, looking back at it with a softened expression. “The guys were great.”

            Bucky rises up to throw away the empty cup and when he turns around, he sees that Steve followed him. “They also contributed to the second and third time I was hospitalized,” Steve continues.

            Sarah Rogers handled it miraculously well, and Bucky has the faint feeling she knew this kind of behavior from a different person altogether, one Steve never really got to know. When Steve was asleep and Bucky was given the honor to stay with him past visiting hours, Mrs. Rogers hinted faintly at the late Mr. Rogers more than once.

            “You got into a fight with the mean German in our grade, I remember that,” Bucky murmurs.

            “It didn’t matter where he came from,” Steve counters sharply. Strong sensitivity towards bullies.

            “I know. But his name was dumb as hell and sort of cliché. Johann Schneider or something?”

            Steve ignores him. “Broken nose, a few ribs, minor concussion and some bruises,” he lists easily. For all that came afterwards, this list is almost nothing.

            “He spiked your hunger for getting beaten up,” Bucky jokes.

            “No, for standing up for myself.” Steve counters. Why isn’t Bucky filming this yet, to show it at Steve’s wedding or something?

            “I’m not gonna touch that subject with a stick,” Bucky argues softly, but expression remaining stern. “You got _me_ hospitalized in sixth grade because of your need in heroism.”

            “All the good memories in one.” Steve jokes. “We were next to each other in the ER.”

            They stayed up all night, annoyed some patients, talked about deep things high on pain meds. The first time Bucky opened up to anyone (and up until now the last) about his mother leaving and how he’s never seen her since he was eight.

            He wouldn’t until he would be fourteen, and she’d have two kids on the other side of the continent by then. And that he also only told Steve, because then he still couldn’t understand why she treated him so coldly, _why_ his mother hated him so much and loved her new kids.

            Next stop is Steve’s home. It’s an older house, something his father bought before Steve was born. It’s cozy, and Bucky always loved it more than his own. It’s around one in the afternoon already, and the subject of lunch comes up. But Steve doesn’t give him a choice, they go for mac’n’cheese. For a long time, that’s been all Steve and he could cook without screwing up. It’s the good side of too buttery, with an aftertaste he likes to describe as nostalgia.

            After eating on the couch, for which Sarah Rogers would kill them if she found out – not that like had ever bothered them all the times before – they put in a movie, and Steve just had to go for something ancient that Steve’s father owned on _cassette_. They watch Pulp Fiction in that horrible quality, but the vintage feel definitely helps remember the good times, since they weren’t old enough to even understand what the hell was happening. Bucky stayed true by Tarantino’s side, Steve endures it for his and Clint’s sake, when he has to.

            They lean into each other on the couch without thinking much of it. When Bucky does become aware of how close he is, he doesn’t dare to pursue what he wants out of respect for Steve, who’s all set on reviving their shared childhood that it would seem rude to lace it with something inappropriate, if they consider that they are mentally set around age twelve here.

            That’s when Bucky recalls what Steve told him yesterday. _Let’s pretend I haven’t loved you since I was twelve._

            And that gets his hard drive speeding. He turns his face until its opposed to Steve, and either he catches up to Bucky’s thinking or fancies intuition more than he leads on to believe, because in the next second, their lips touch, and it tastes salty and cheesy (in all possible ways), but also a little liberating. It means Bucky doesn’t feel as guilty doing that, because he knows how Steve feels about him, but in return, that also means he’s living up to that feeling, which makes him back off way too soon.

            If that’s the revelation Steve’s been talking about, he doesn’t want any part of it. He scoots back immediately when Steve presses a hand to his cheek, whispering ‘shhh’ to him like he’s a child. Not to mention what they yelled at each other at the beach, all the times he didn’t do it right, and…

            “Don’t, Buck. It’s scary, okay, I get it. Check in with me, try to gather it, what do you feel right now?” The movie plays on in the background without anyone paying mind to it.

            “I don’t want this.” Bucky croaks weakly. “I don’t know how _not_ to disappoint you.”

            Steve smiles, not letting go of him. It’s not pressure keeping him transfixed, but the touch feels good, keeps him grounded, even if everything else inside him votes to retreat as quick as possible.

            “Who gave you the impression that you need to avoid that in particular? In all the time we’ve been friends, it happened a few times. I was disappointed in you, and the other way around, right? What’s the difference?”

            “I don’t know, it sucks.”

             Steve takes a breath, like he’s about to say something very important. “You act all tough love because that’s what he expected of you, and when you withheld your feelings from Brock, you started to withhold your feelings from all of us,” It seems that they reached the inevitable topic.

            Bucky takes it in for a moment, even though it’s too much. He’d expect the truth from Natasha, or even from Clint who doesn’t ever miss when he aims for the vitals, but Steve… It hurts. “Your point being…?” he asks, feigning indifference.

            “You didn’t suck me off that night because I happened to look much more appetizing through your intoxicated eyes, is what I’m saying.” Which means, Bucky had been unintentionally holding back _until_ that point.

            Bucky straightens up. “You’re saying I feel something for you, and… _you_ knew before I did.” He’s clarifying it again and again, or else he’ll lose his thread or freak out. It’s easier to accept than fight against it.

            “Have you never, even for a second been jealous about my indifference to you and Rumlow?” Bucky is stunned, because he has a point, as much as he wants to deny it.

            “Oh, fuck.”

            “I guess you had it in you all along.”

            “ _That’s_ why you never responded when I talked about him?” Lunch breaks had been a little uncomfortable with Steve silently shifting away and submerging into some sketch or a book to avoid being part of the conversation. Nat looked at Bucky in that ‘Oh, yes, please tell me more’ way, and maybe, if he could have had any other way to express his emotions, he would have dropped it.

            “Well, and because he’s an asshole, though I hoped you’d figure out that on your own because else I’d screw up my chances by being the guy who broke you off.” Steve smirks, looking smug.

            “Smart.” Bucky remarks.

            “Thanks.”

            “You mind walking around for a bit? I need to get some movement,” says Bucky, being an abhorrent hypocrite, because he’s the one who spends day after day inside to avoid decision-making. 

            Which reminds him what this is about, that he can’t run far unless he’s fine with running in circles, avoiding the problem. For a moment, it just felt real, like talking to Steve the way he always has. He hasn’t felt like running _away_ so far, which surprises him more than anything else.

            “Need some pot?” Steve offers, getting off the couch.

            “Uh, no. I’m good,” Bucky replies, a little surprised by the offer. “Seriously?” he adds with a curious smile.

            Steve remains calm and collected, despite the playful smile curling around his lips. “Helps me when I get anxious and don’t feel like taking the medication. I run faster off them.” Bucky and he get up and Steve turns off the TV.

            “It’s from Clint, so it’s all right,” he adds. Bucky nods, not sure what to say. He didn’t think Steve smoked regularly, considering his asthma and everything. Then again, neither did he notice Steve’s five year crush on him all that much, either. His own feelings even less. And the spiral continues.

            They get to a small nearby park, Steve picking a tree to lean at. A couple of kids play on the swings. He and Steve occupied those once, even the metal screeches like it had a decade ago. The kids laugh and talk, but mind their own business as if the two moody teenagers don’t exist. Bucky used to do that, too. Blinded out the older weirdos who hang out at a park, the kind he’d ultimately become. 

            The goodness of his heart (or whatever scratches are left of it) wishes that it wouldn’t be like that for those kids. That puberty and life wouldn’t fuck with their morals and make them question what they never used to doubt.  Bucky doesn’t sit for long. He takes off after counting full five minutes and Steve attempts to follow, only stopped by Bucky’s shaking head.

            “I’ll just take a round. Be back in a few.” Bucky walks through the park first, then leaves around the corner and heads uphill passing by the houses, and only when he’s sure that he’s out of Steve’s sight, he lights a cigarette. And boy does it feel good.

            For a minute a two, he just walks without thinking. It’s like the smoke doesn’t leave his lungs at all, it feels like it stays up in his head and stirs up everything to an unsolvable puzzle that Bucky just puts aside, like he always has. Steve could sit hours at thousand pieces of the absolutely identical pieces of sky, and _he’s_ the one with the trouble to concentrate.

            What does that make Bucky?

            The big question starts poking him with its sharp edges, merges into the center of his attention until he _has_ to make up his mind. It makes him anxious. He stops and sighs.

            He has _fun_ with Steve, who is part of their friend group, who is kind and treats the one he loves with his deepest respect. It hasn’t even been twelve hours, but Steve would _understand_ if Bucky chose to break it off here, he always would. He’d be hurt, absolve it immediately and try to stash it away, but he’d cope.

            It’s a possibility that Bucky shoves far away, because he _doesn’t_ want this to end, despite considering Natasha’s words. She’s not often wrong, but once in a while she _could_ be. Steve makes him happy, and he wants to make Steve happy, not leave him hanging and hurt him. He wants to talk to him, past the cheerful banter and about Steve’s fears, too, his thoughts on everything.

            Neither does he want to hurt himself by forcing himself away from his friend, even if he somehow made up in his mind that it’s all for the greater good. Fact is, Bucky doesn’t know, hasn’t got a clue about what future waits up ahead. While it might be good while it lasts, Bucky is also thinking about college right now, and he’s not going to let Steve have influence on that part of his life, because he’s so damn insecure about it himself.

            But that aside, he’ll have to leave Steve either way, even if it might be just temporarily. That will put their resolve to test, and if it breaks, it probably wasn’t meant to happen.

            Bucky returns to the playground, not seeing Steve where he’d been minutes ago. Instead, he’s playing catch with the kids, laughing with them. Steve – ever the awkward Steve with his sketchbook glued to his hands making sure the guy in the front rows in class gets a more or less decent comeback for his sexist comment (even if it costs Steve a good punch in the face) – can easily get invited for a round of catch. Bucky liked being needed by Steve, be by his side while he incredibly fears that one day, when his senses on picking up whenever Steve is in trouble fail him and he’d be there way too late. Mind the school jerks, if Steve walks up on a bunch of homophobes or just happens to be at the wrong place at the wrong time with an armed asshole in proximity… That would end Bucky. And he’s being paranoid, because Steve knows it too and he also doesn’t go outside too late for that purpose alone, because he’s not completely unreasonable, and Steve also knows that he can’t do that to his mother.

            Bucky knows that Steve doesn’t need an angel on his shoulder, but Bucky wants that role back. In a way, he hates the confidence that’s rising within him, and wherever it comes from, Bucky can only guess.

            Steve laughs when the kid catches up to him, yelling that it’s Steve’s turn now and Steve chases after them. Only after a while, he stops and leans over, hands on his knees and back crooked like a cat’s, he’s wheezing and all alarms go off for Bucky.

            “What’s the matter?” one of the kids shouts over, still playfully while advancing the same moment Bucky does. _For fuck’s sake_. Steve can run pretty long distances, not only for someone with shitty lungs but he also outruns Bucky every fucking time they jogged together, so him getting an asthma attack _now_ of all times scares Bucky. Maybe it’s the stress, maybe it’s Bucky causing this.

            The second Bucky has his hand on Steve’s back, it vibrates from laughter. Steve squeezes his eyes and one kid breathes out relieved and runs back to the other one. Steve’s lungs are just fine, it’s _him_ who’s a fucking shithead.

            Bucky exhales slowly. “I’m _so_ going to kill you,” he promises in a low voice, squeezing his friend’s neck without actual hard feelings, he’s Steve just faked it.

            “Got your answer?” Steve asks, ignoring Bucky’s threat. It’s empty and by now everybody knows it.

            “Huh?” Bucky doesn’t get it instantly. “Oh,” he adds, feeling like an audience member of some stupid old sitcom.

            “You smell like smoke.” Steve walks off back to the tree where they started out, waving at the two kids running back home. Bucky can’t read any disappointment in his face, nor is there a judgmental vibe in his voice. In fact, if he isn’t just hearing what he wants to, Steve seems remotely glad. That is, if Bucky didn’t know better.

            “So what?” he retorts, a little too sharp against the lack of hardness in Steve’s words. But Steve doesn’t even flinch, keeps his face straight and whatever he feels to himself. He never used to be so shielded around Bucky, at least when they were younger. Bucky lost that part of Steve, too. When was the last time they spilled secrets and talked when they weren’t high or drunk as fuck?

            As for that, he recalls a get together at Clint’s earlier this spring, where they locked themselves up in the bathroom upstairs, with Bucky hugging the toilet. They actually brought up things they thought neither of them remembered, once Bucky could pull off coherent speech again.

            “You always do that before any kind of big decision. So what’s it going to be?” Steve asks.

            Instead of an answer, instead of overthinking, he just reaches out for Steve’s hand and pulls him up. “Let’s find out, but, back inside. It’s getting chillier.”

            Steve smiles weakly but follows almost blindly, hands in his pockets he only takes out to open the front door. Bucky immediately walks off upstairs.

            “Oh, what? What are you doing?” Steve inquires, now a little nervous, or that’s what Bucky can tell by his voice. In the same breath, he’s got Steve’s interest.

            “I think blanket forts still work better in your room.” Bucky reminds him, and he hears a chuckle immediately close to him. He throws the abundances of Steve’s pillows on the floor while Steve pulls out the giant white blanket from his shelf. In less than ten minutes, they’ve assembled the best fort since their early childhood, and they lie underneath it with fairy lights illuminating the small space.

            “Truth or dare.” Bucky initiates, because someone has to. The yellowish lights calm him, and it’s quiet and almost peaceful once they’ve settled. Bucky’s feet stick out, because Steve insisted on curling himself up on the side to watch him, so there isn’t enough room left. Steve even got snacks from downstairs, nothing but sugar and carbohydrates. By now, Bucky suspects he has a bong lying around somewhere, too, but he gave himself a promise to stay sober tonight, and that he holds on to.

            “Truth.” Steve replies. “But just because I’m too lazy to move right now.”

            Bucky chuckles and agrees, reaching over his head for a couple of chips.

            “First kiss.” Bucky asks, and Steve frowns at him. “I’ve never seen you make out with anyone at any parties and you’re not the kind to share all that much lately, so I figure I gotta ask.”

            Steve gives up with a sigh, not without throwing an M&M at Bucky. He inclines back a little, then says, “Sam Wilson.” The same is unfamiliar, nor does the gender-neutral name help on his quest to catch up with his friend, get closer to him again.

            “Oh, that’s specific,” Bucky retorts sarcastically, waiting for more.

            Steve smirks and shrugs. “Truth or dare,” he replies innocently. Bucky is scandalized, but keeps him grumbling low until it’s his turn again. They do have all night, after all.

            “Going for truth, too. I’m so comfy,” he whines. Steve nods, making it obvious that this will be truth-spilling mostly, and Bucky is fine with that.

            “Worst prank pulled on you by anyone but me,” Steve says. They had a few, from ones like Steve straight-out calling him with a broken voice to inform him he’s been hit by a car to switching coke with soy sauce at a party, where Bucky just had to pull the bad luck card.

            Bucky doesn’t have to think long, but neither is he all that willing to share. But if he takes the first step, he might crack Steve up a bit, too, get him to talk more about that Sam person. He has to walk towards him, otherwise this won’t work.

            “Okay, um. It was a late night I stayed in, probably studying or whatever. Brock called me around one in the morning, first all casual and then slowly coaxing me into phone sex, and I didn’t mind. It, uh, happened sometimes? Either way, he got me uh, worked up and everything, and all of a sudden he snorts and a _group_ of laughter joins him. Basically, Brock’s bunch heard a few things they shouldn’t have.” About that, they also kept their mouth shut since, but it’s not like he never gets looked at the wrong way by Brock’s friends. Sometimes, he feels like he can actually feel their thoughts.

            “Did he apologize?” Steve wants to know, like he’s about to jump up and do something about it.

            “Nope. Told me to get over it, I didn’t think I had reason not to.” He feels sneaky once he realizes something. “But since that’s two questions, here’s one: Who is Sam?”

            Steve realizes his big mistake. “Ugh, I hate you. Met him while I was out, running, we talked a couple of times and it just… We kinda became a thing afterwards.” _Him_ it is, then. That clears at least parts of it up, and also spikes his interest.

            “When was that?”

            “Um, like a month after you and Brock became official. It didn’t last long, though.”

            “Why?”

            “You know I get to ask you two questions for that, right?”

            “Don’t care, just talk to me, please.” Bucky puts a little too much honesty in his words, which confuses Steve for a second, but his expression turns soft again.

            “It was a bit complicated for us, mainly because I couldn’t share everything with him, and I couldn’t share with you guys about him.” Bucky raises an eyebrow because he’s _still_ beating around the bush and while Bucky thinks he can guess where this is leading, he’d rather have Steve be honest about it.

            “Sam’s older. Sophomore in college when I last saw him.”

            Bucky calculates quickly and nearly chokes. “You weren’t even legal, what the fuck…”

            “He didn’t know, okay?” Steve cuts in defensively. He doesn’t stand up for _himself_ , but rather for this past relationship that wasn’t exactly built on honesty. Steve surely can’t lecture Bucky about that one, even if he does trust Steve’s judgment on people way more. Steve was the successful schemer behind this.

            “That could have been dangerous,” Bucky says. He sounds like the worried mother and he hates it, but it had to be said.

            “Sam’s no different from you and me, and it’s not that much of a gap.”

            “Yet you didn’t tell him. You didn’t tell _us_ , because you knew we’d disagree,” Bucky empathizes, getting slightly tired of Steve’s impulsive habit of not telling the truth.

            “Okay, I think it’s getting clammy in here…” Steve feigns, shifting out of the fort.

            Bucky takes his wrist tightly, maybe squeezes a little too hard because Steve winces, but stops mid-movement. Bucky hears his heart beating, doesn’t want this to end so early on. There’s so much he wants to say now, because he built himself up to being _that_ vulnerable, and his egocentric nature doesn’t allow Steve to leave just yet. He rarely avoids a conversation, it’s Bucky who mostly deflects, but if Steve feels uncomfortable, it’s for a reason and Bucky _should_ respect it.

            “Please, Steve. I didn’t want to force myself on you. But please don’t go.” Steve sighs, but doesn’t resist anymore.

            “I got two truths on you. First, what was so great about Brock, and second, do you love me?” He falls back on the blanket-coated floor, avoiding to look at Bucky directly.

            Bucky jumps at the lesser evil. “Brock, uh… It’s complicated. He was charming when we were alone, funny and actually nice. It helped me to overlook the bad times, where he cancelled last minute for something he could have foreseen way sooner or things like that prank. He’s attractive, and, well… I do have a thing for assholes.” With that, Bucky winks at Steve. “As for the latter… Steve…” he whines, hoping that would get him off the hook somehow, but sure enough, it’s not in his cards tonight.  “I can’t explain it. I want to be close to you, I want to touch you and trust you, and I think that’s love, but also I’m so fucking scared of you pushing me away for being the wrong guy. Realize Sam was way better than me and dump me. I just… I didn’t want to jump into things, and I don’t want to draw conclusions this early… You might also remember that I’ve known you pretty much since I was born, and in one way or another, I surely do love you, never stopped. But it’s hard to stamp a label on what you make me feel. I feel good when I’m around you, I like to make you rather happy than sad, I like your laugh and your caustic remarks.”

            “What about the fucking part?” Right, Steve doesn’t miss the big guns.

            But with some consideration, Bucky admits that it isn’t so hard after all. “Same thing here. I’d love to make you feel good, so I’d feel needed by you.”

            “’Love to’?” Steve gets hung up on the phrasing. Sure enough, he’s right. That part slipped from him.

            “I, uh… Sometimes it feels like I’m not even getting you close,” Bucky admits. Apart from Brock, he’s only been with Natasha before, and when she didn’t feel satisfied, she let him know.

            Steve’s mouth forms a thin line. “You’re not doing anything wrong,” Steve explains. “You might think I built up enough confidence by now to not let it get to me just… It’s that thing after an orgasm, when everything that just turned you on makes you throw up right after. I felt this way with Sam and just… Maybe it doesn’t have to be like that.”

            Bucky laughs. “The porn effect?” he asks. Steve hits him with his foot. “Ahh, sorry, sorry. Alright, no, I didn’t mean to. Steve, you could have been honest with him about _that_ at least.”

            “Yeah, didn’t happen,” Steve replies grittily.

            “There’s an easy trick; don’t feel guilty about sex. Admittedly, it’s cute how you get flustered and all, but hey, it’s dirty business, embrace it if it feels good, and… let go.” The last word he drags like a yoga instructor and expects another punch, or hit, anything at least halfway brutal, but it doesn’t come.

            “Really?” Is what comes from Steve instead. Bucky nods.

            “Wanna, uh, try it out?” Bucky suggests, surprising himself. In the name of science, he might get naughty tonight. Oh, bad thought, he feels like a 91-year-old grandpa all of a sudden.

            “Uh, I need to clean myself up first. You wanna go up next, or, uh, with me?” That’s as straightforward about it as Steve ever got before. It made Bucky blush how prepared the guy usually was for sex when they hooked up the past month.

            “Is that in the cards?” Bucky wonders. He isn’t sure whether it’s appropriate, since it’s still a trip down memory lane, and Steve keeps being ambiguous about his intentions.

            Steve frowns, a shy smile masking the obvious insecurity that question sparks. “Isn’t it?”

            “Just… Uh… Okay, I dug this hole, didn’t I?”

            Steve nods, at which Bucky sighs. He scoots just a little closer, as a small surprise to Steve. His heartbeat rises just at that, feeling Steve’s breath close to his. “I just wasn’t sure whether you had that in mind,” Bucky admits.

            Steve laughs. “I can take it back, if that’ll make you more comfortable.”

            “No! Fuck, _awkward_. Steve, you and I need our honest hours back.”

            “Good, I’m all up for that. First off, I love you.” Bucky gasps at the confession, and the nonchalant way it slips from Steve. He doesn’t look ashamed in the least. But Bucky is, because as he opens his mouth, the words won’t come out. And it isn’t all that important to be said, or so Bucky naively thinks, it’s just words. But once they’re said by one party, there’s an unspoken obligation to say them back, or this could go far south. Bucky closes his eyes, squeezes until it’s fully dark behind his lids and just sinks a little until his face is buried in fabric. He feels a faint repetitive throb, so it must be Steve’s chest.

            “Sorry,” Bucky mutters.

            “Yeah, it’s alright. It can wait,” Steve assures him. And he seems only a little hurt, though mostly compassionate and legitimately understanding.

            But he and Bucky don’t have the luxury of waiting. Graduation is too fucking close for Bucky’s liking, and his father keeps hinting at a bunch of colleges on the East Coast, maliciously or not wanting to push him as far away as possible. On some level, Bucky wants it, too. He loves the East, loves New York and Boston and Baltimore. His mother was born and raised in Brooklyn, only moved for a job, and returned the second she had a chance to. Bucky never saw all that much of the world, either. But now, here, everything is good. If only it could be like this for some while longer. Or if he could bring Steve with him. But it’s one more year for Steve, Bucky couldn’t even if he wanted to. If _Steve_ wanted to.

            “So… Do I shower now, or…?” Steve teases.

            “Yeah, I think I wanna try something.”

            “But it’s _my_ experimentation day,” Steve pouts.

            Bucky laughs. “Only with your permission, Cap.”

            Steve slowly crawls out of the small cave, not without placing a cheeky kiss on Bucky’s exposed stomach, making him giggle. Without a second thought, Bucky follows him into the bathroom. Bucky takes a moment to see him in less dimmed lights. Apart from some pubic hair, Steve was left off the hook with only light, small hairs all over his body that rise so beautifully when Bucky does as much as blow _at_ him.

            Bucky strips down to his underwear when Steve jumps into the shower first. In the meantime, he uses the ventilation system to light a smoke. He’s lucky Steve never showers hot, so there’s no dampness to kill the embers of the grit.

            “If my Ma finds out, I’ll fucking punch you,” Steve warns him through the shower curtain. Bucky hasn’t noticed him peeking, so either he has supernatural senses in the shower or it’s time to do something about the ventilation.

            “Relax, she’ll never assume it’s you,” Bucky retorts. “And I hardly believe you smoke your pot on the balcony.”

            Steve is silent on the other end, which means Bucky can resume burning the cigarette in peace. It is a big fucking mystery why three very specific words don’t come as easy to Bucky as they do to Steve. He’s fucking great at mocking his friend, but putting himself out there completely honest… Yeah, he can’t tell how the fuck he generally feels, how is the other part going to work?

            About now he should be drunk or high somewhere, not sober with a cigarette waiting for Steve to give him the green light to join him in the shower. He’s not weeping over the broken pattern, it’s definitely the lesser evil to be a little nervous, but generally not as wrecked.

             “You coming?” Steve inquires, and Bucky suffocates the grit with a few drops from the sink and leaves it on the surface. He strips down his boxers and gets behind the curtain. Steve is kind, gentle about how he treats Bucky. That and maybe because he likes Bucky’s body, if he can assume as much.

            “What are you thinking, Steve?” Bucky asks, curious if he’s going to spill.

            Bucky is glad the shower dims at least some words Steve’s saying, so he just smiles as if he understood, because mixed with the look on Steve’s face, it only could be something a little too honest again. There’s an invisible force making all sounds dull and far away.

            And in that second, the words are so fucking close, reachable, easy… If he just…

            He steps back, washing the leftover soap off his body. If he apologizes, he’d admit something was wrong again, and he wants just one fucking day without anything being wrong. Or less than usual.

            Steve grabs the towels and dries Bucky first, insisting on it despite Bucky’s attempts to do it the other way round. They fight and insult each other almost lovingly, and Bucky gasps at the sudden grip around his left hip and a following pair of lips on his own. _Fuck. Yeah._

            Steve throws the towel elsewhere and he pushes Bucky around so roughly that the fort collapses as Bucky slips, and they laugh once again while Steve straddles Bucky’s hips. It’s just kissing first, nice and slow. If his dick wasn’t trapped uncomfortably under Steve’s thigh, he might have drawn it out some more. Steve stutters an apology, like he didn’t even notice, but Bucky just flips them around, hand flat on Steve’s chest.

            “Any particular experience with rimming?” Bucky asks straightforwardly. Steve shakes his head. “Any interesting in acquiring any?”

            Steve gulps visibly. They’ve done the basic foreplay, fingers and lube, but they’ve never gotten there, because Bucky couldn’t bring himself to ask. He just wants to try, find out whether it’s something Steve could like. Feels like it’s safe to ask a question now. “I can make a dental dam out a condom, if it’ll make you more comfortable.”

            “Yeah, I just. Precautions? I’m not…”

            “It’s safe.” Bucky gets up for the condoms, but then turns around, “You didn’t have chili lately, right?”

            Steve chuckles. “No, man. Need any help?”

            “Scissors.”

            “On the table,” Steve informs him. “As for condoms, Tony got me one of those endless strands, thought it was funny for my…” Bucky turns around, breaking off the search for scissors as it hits him. Steve’s birthday always comes together with summer break.

            “Shit, I missed it, right?”

            An indifferent nod from Steve. “Yup.”

            “That never happened before,” Bucky says. ‘I’m sorry,’ he means.

            Steve laughs bitterly, his bony shoulders jumping up and down. “That’s because Nat didn’t emotionally abuse you, and you got over her pretty well. Except it still just so happens that Clint and I feel awkward when you guys stare at each other.” Bucky gets a condom from his pockets, not going for Steve’s stash, the one that’s never been brought up before. Maybe not appropriate when they tried to fuck with the least amount of words possible.

            “She’s hot?” Bucky argues, instead of going into the less pleasant part of the conversation. Steve made no attempt at talking around it this time. He makes up for his little figure by stomping around fearlessly with his thoughts. Maybe Bucky missed it, just a little.

            “Fuck she does. I didn’t have the pleasure of fucking her though.”

            “That’s why she likes you best,” Bucky assures him, wishing he was lying. Though she might not seem like it, she’s good at holding grudges. Actually, she does seem like it. Then a second thought crosses his mind. “You want to, though?” He unrolls the condom, starting to cut along the length.

            “She’s attractive, but kind of too straightforward for my taste. Like she’s gonna tie me up and play some really fucked-up games with me,” Steve stares intently at the condom as he speaks.

            Bucky snorts. “Like the thought doesn’t turn you on.”

            Steve laughs, and Bucky knows his point is made. “Let’s say, I like authoritarian more than bossy. And Nat’s my best friend.”

            “How do you spell that first one? Margaret Carter?”

            Steve raises a brow at him. “You know, I was going to say you but sure, works too.”

            “You _never_ listen to me. There’s plenty of scars and x-ray scans to prove that.”

            “Doesn’t mean I never wanted to.” Fuck, that’s hot.

            He only needs proof. “On your back,” Bucky commands, a little too serious for how the situation seemed until a moment ago. He hears Steve hissing, maybe even words, but he doesn’t make out the meaning. Bucky snatches a bottle of lube from the nightstand (Steve, the fucker, knows what the dispensers are for) and scoots over to Steve, setting a leg between his thighs to stress his point.

            As if he was starving, Bucky presses his lips on Steve’s and rocks forward with need, feeling completely turned on again. Steve whimpers, those tiny little sounds he just can’t seem to control, less even when Bucky is working up his dick with a slick hand.

            The kiss is needy, possessive, a little selfish even. Bucky wants to break away but Steve pulls him right back down, and fuck the asthma, this guy officially doesn’t need air to function. Bucky tries, just breathes against Steve’s cheek but to no success, bites the lower lip to break free to no avail, but when they part, Bucky sees a new shade of red on Steve’s lips.

            “I’m sorry, oh fuck…” Bucky stutters. There’s not enough oxygen back in his brain to form coherent thoughts, he just knows he shouldn’t have done that. Instead of responding, Steve shifts his legs further apart, and Bucky doesn’t need to wait for Christmas to unwrap that gift. He fishes for the makeshift dam and the lube, adjusting Steve’s cheeks just a little further apart, the same moment he sees Steve’s cock leaking just from Bucky’s looks.

            Just as he reaches clarity, it’s like there’s no other purpose than to put his mouth on Steve. Not like any time they’ve been together before, where Bucky checked out mentally as he fucked Steve, never actually there until his orgasm reaches him and almost painfully shoots through his body. It’s not what Steve had wanted, Natasha is right. Bucky just thought, assumed… It wasn’t easier for Steve when Bucky was behind him, maybe the lack of eye contact made it worse for him, like Bucky didn’t need _him_ , just needed someone to give him what he wanted.

            Just thought, assumed…

            His middle finger just runs circles over the rim, and he revels in Steve’s needy panting. And he can tell the difference between the dangerous wheezing and him simply enjoying what he’s doing. Bucky had the tools to get Steve off all along, had the senses, but he never downright _asked_ what the issue was.

            He’s done with it. He’s done with the guessing games Brock played, where an angry grunt means ‘No’ and silence the cue to proceed, he wants to reinstall communication, the way it’d been with Tasha. It’s the worst to compare former partners while having Steve right in front of him, but he chooses to learn from them instead.

            “You okay, buddy?” Bucky checks in, just to make sure. “Can I make you come tonight, please?”

            Steve looks at him with his eyes half closed, while Bucky varies the pressure on Steve’s hole, feels it twitch at the word ‘come’. And then he nods.

            “Help me out, though. Tell me if I do something wrong.”

            “What’s this, Bucky? You’re quite the talker, and not in the sexy way,” Steve notices. The fact that he’s keeping it up with the banter means he’s not ready to go there in all seriousness yet.

            “Yeah, sorry. Is it fine, though? Asking you questions, stuff…” Steve touches Bucky’s forearm, the one between his legs and straightens to kiss Bucky. His lip tastes a little bit like blood now, and Bucky feels worried once again.

            “I’d love that,” Steve mumbles, adjusting Bucky’s stilled hand to get it back where he was at. Bucky sinks down, gives Steve’s cockhead an experimental lick. Steve’s back arches off the floor, and he chuckles.

            “I could go on, or move lower.”

            “Thanks to the dam, there’s a way back,” Steve reassures him, which sort of answers the question. Bucky holds up the dam as he gets it on Steve, and it’s amazing, despite the barrier.

            Steve repeatedly hisses, despite being completely relaxed, and Bucky would soothingly touch him anywhere else if holding up the dam wouldn’t require both hands. Bucky forces his tongue past the rim, and Steve gasps in surprise.

            “Fuck, that’s good…” And Bucky proceeds, just the tip of his tongue travelling past his hole and back again. Steve likes this part, definitely more than Bucky does. But it’s interesting, as Bucky has never seen him this immersed before, this relaxed and open. Bucky remembers the conversation about the whole flustered part, wonders if Steve embraced it. He wonders if that’s one of the benefits of actually talking to him about it.

            He’s dragging out the foreplay until Steve interrupts to inform him that he’s getting blue balls from his fucking around, and Bucky rips open another condom with his teeth (which makes Steve twitch again, and that’s a sight with his swollen dick) and rolls it on. There’s no rush in this, but looking at Steve with every thrust is much better than he would have expected. That first time Bucky bottomed for him, it felt so fucking awkward. Now? Now he doesn’t want to lose sight of those exploded pupils and the look Steve is giving him. So fucking… in love. And Bucky embraces it this once, because he owes Steve that in return. Steve never shows weakness, and now, being so bare for him… It’s overwhelming. He hears the waves rushing in his ears as he rolls his hips deeper against Steve, until he has nothing to give and just as he retreats, he brushes Steve’s prostate. Steve is crying, flushed from the face down to his chest.

            “Gotcha…” Steve produces another whimper. Bucky goes just a little deeper, Steve’s haltering breath worrying a little more each time. “Breathe for me, it’s alright.”

            “Uhhh…” Bucky kisses his cheek, not risking the lips now, because the last thing he needs is an asthma attack at this point. They’ve come too far.

            Just from how Steve tenses and shifts under him, Bucky knows it’s his time to let go, too, get Steve there. And he does, the condom sincerely helping with not making this fail miserably, and Steve stops breathing altogether. In the good way, as it’s over just seconds later. Bucky feels Steve’s come on his stomach.

            “Look, I’m still the same guy,” Bucky jokes, kissing Steve’s salty skin, not paying attention to the mess on his stomach. That’s for a different time, maybe. It’s an achievement, but he doesn’t want Steve to get even more embarrassed about it.

            “Fucking jerk you are,” Steve retorts, but kisses him all the same.

            “Yeah, and you need your inhaler,” Bucky gets up and gets it from the inside of Steve’s jean pocket and drops it next to Steve, who’s still in the process of recuperating. Bucky gets an unused cloth from the bathroom and soaks it in warm water to get the come off Steve and himself.

            Steve is hesitant about it at first, wants to do it himself. “Let me,” Bucky says firmly, and just this time, it works. Steve watches as he cleans him up, shier than during the whole process.

            “What do you think, we got a shot at this?” Steve asks, apparently trying to make this more bearable for himself. And it’s not about sex, this is commitment. What Steve means is if they can go on like _this_ , safe and open about their feelings.

            Bucky purposely doesn’t answer until he’s done, then retreats with a serious expression. The playful curve straightens on Steve’s lips and worry grows on his face instead. Then Bucky gives it up, because he’s never been a good actor, and quickly makes up for playing with Steve like that by shooting forward with the mission to capture Steve’s lips.

            “I think you just shot _perfectly_ ,” Bucky teases.

            Steve pushes him away with mild annoyance. “God, I think I gotta find something to shut you the hell up,” he breathes out before getting his mouth on Bucky.

            Yes, indeed, that’s a good way to forget the English language. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a kind of post-scriptum, there _is_ a second installment planned, as I kind of plagued [angelthewarrior](angelthewarrior.tumblr.com) with my ideas for ages, as I always do. Totally check out her blog though, she's the one keeping me posted on Tumblr since I went on hiatus. She's super supportive and sweet, too.
> 
> But hey, it's sort of a happy ending for now, right? I'm totally open for suggestions, as there are other projects I'm working on, using summer break to the fullest. Let's see how that goes.


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